


My senses fool me

by inverseR



Category: Drunk History, Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Hannibal (TV), Polar (2019), Sex Education (TV)
Genre: Crack Crossover, Do not underestimate my ability to write weird shit, Gen, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Husbands are Ineffable
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:47:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21755527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inverseR/pseuds/inverseR
Summary: “Is this a prank call?” Crowley groans before Camille can answer, curses a bit at the background before coming back: “listen, can you put your parents on the line, hmm?”“My parents are dead,” Camille answers.“I killed them,” Duncan offers.Crowley is quiet for a while before he continues. “I threaten the trees so that’s why the forest is always green. They’re disciplined. None of those facts correlate but I guess that’s the end of the conversation, yes?”
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Sergeant Shadwell/Madame Tracy (Good Omens), Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 2
Kudos: 38





	My senses fool me

After the second cigarette, Camille decides Duncan might have lied, at least a little bit. She snatches the lighter out of his hands before he lights his next cigarette, leaving him to stare blankly at his own hands for a moment before sighing heavily.

“You don’t plan to help me at all!” Camille realises. And why would he? Duncan moved out to retire, he killed a dozen or so people (or more) to retire, they met because he was very, very ardent about retiring. The last thing he would do was go back to work, and for what? A sudden and profound sense of guilt?

“I do, may I have my lighter back?”

“We’re going back inside and we’re going to plan,” Camille insists. “And _then_ you can have your lighter back.”

Duncan doesn’t sigh, but he looked like he really wanted to. “I can smoke and plan.”

“Consider this incentive.”

*

What Duncan remembers about who and what ordered the hit on Camille’s father was brief and spotty. He blames it mostly on the years and being tortured by Damocles. It was one of his earlier jobs, before he was known as the Black Kaiser.

He remembers Vivian, just as young, just as green, stomping her foot angrily at being bypassed. He remembers the shock when he’s given the assignment, a plane ticket, and a gun. He remembers being told to get it done.

Remembers (dreams about it every night) the black car and shooting bullets into glass, fragments of it billowing into the wind. Remembers fighting to get the door open because _something was wrong_. Remembers _cold_ – remembers cold horror as a bloodied hand flops lifeless out of the car.

He can tell from Camille’s expression that all of his brooding trauma is useless to her, and she stomps out of the cabin into the cold outside.

Well, at least he got his lighter back.

*

Camille stomps back just before he’s finished half of his smoke. “We’re in a forest.”

Duncan tries as hard as he can to recall exactly how much drug Damocles had administered to Camille before he found her, Camille groans and snatches the cigarette out of his hands and grounds it underfoot. He stares at it mournfully.

“We’re in a forest.”

“Yes.” What else does she expect him to say? He can tell her 146 ways to hide a dead body out in the forest cold if that’s what she wants to hear.

“If you look around us, it’s just green as far as the eye can see.”

“Yes.”

“But it’s fucking cold every day and colder every night. When the sun rises, this side of the mountain doesn’t get any sun at all and it’s still cold.”

“Yes,” Duncan blinks. Oh.

“Why is the forest green and thriving if there’s no sun this side of the mountains and it’s so bloody cold?”

Darwinism? Duncan doesn’t say it aloud. Maybe all the trees are just fungi? Camille is right, nonetheless. He was here years before, when he decided to buy the cabin across the lake, it was cold. It was always cold. And there was always deep green forests all year round despite the snow, and all he had thought about it until Camille pointed out was: _yes, unpolluted air._

“We’ll go talk to Regina.”

*

Regina does not know anything, but tells them how to find a witch, who is living with a Witchfinder.

*

The plaque nailed to the door of the luxurious mansion reads Shangri-La. It is located in the densest part of the forest and Duncan is impressed. He can’t tell if he’s impressed by the forest canopy for hiding the mansion, or if he’s impressed by the sheer size and opulence of the mansion, but he is impressed.

The impression does not last long when he is greeted by a Foul Man, who brandishes his hand screaming “BEGONE, YE GUILING DEMONS! BEGONE!”

Camille flinches back from Foul Man as he continues to scream and rave, and tucks herself behind him. A Calm Woman appears and says “now settle down now, Mister Shadwell. No need to make that sort of racket. There’s tea in the kitchen and bring it around to the sitting room.”

“I’m so sorry about him, he’s always this cranky. Especially so when the salespeople visited a while ago asking if we needed mattresses! We didn’t, but they were so nice, so I let them in for a spot of tea. You don’t see people often up in these mountains and you do get lonely for a bit of company. I’m Madame Tracey. That was Shadwell.”

“DON’T BE GIVING MY NAME OFF TO DEMONS IN DISGUISE, WHORE OF BABYLON!” Camille starts as Foul Man yells from the kitchen.

Duncan looks at Calm Woman, alarmed by what’s going on, but Madame Tracey just smiles peaceably and winks. “Old habits die hard.”

“We can come back later?” Duncan suggests, since Camille is rather focussed on staring at his shoelaces at the moment, her hands knuckle-white in his jacket. “It’s not all that important of a matter (Camille pinches him where he’s still healing and Duncan bites back a grunt). We can come back later, when he’s less startled.”

“Oh well,” Madame Tracey says, disappointed. “He’s always this startled. But I can leave you my number instead?”

Duncan nods in agreement and Camille goes to wait outside while Madame Tracey writes Duncan her number from a scrap of paper torn from an old map.

Camille has new information for Duncan once he steps outside. “Snakeskin shoes,” she points. “I don’t think Shadwell wears snakeskin. Neither does Madame Tracey. There’s army boots and army boots and army boots, a few pumps and sandals, but only one pair of snakeskin shoes and brogue.”

Odd pairs out. “There’s someone else in there,” Camille concludes.

Duncan rewinds what Regina tells them. Witch-and-Witchfinder. Nowhere about an extra person. They go to Regina again for confirmation. No extra person.

“What do you think lives with them?” Camille asks.

Duncan shrugs.

*

What lives with a witch and a witchfinder?

The answer is, a serpent.

They find that out when they do phone Madame Tracey and asks her about the eternal forest green, and she says “oh! I know just the person.”

They’d expect Shadwell to answer the phone when Madame Tracey turns away and yells “Crowley!” (“just a moment, dears. Are you sure you don’t want to come over? I made some sandwiches. Mister Shadwell might yell a bit at you, he quite loves my sandwiches.”) but it wasn’t.

“ _Yesssss_?”

That’s not Mister Shadwell.

“Why is the forest always green?” Camille asks.

“Is this a prank call?” Crowley groans before Camille can answer, curses a bit at the background before coming back: “listen, can you put your parents on the line, hmm?”

“My parents are dead,” Camille answers.

“I killed them,” Duncan offers.

Crowley is quiet for a while before he continues. “I threaten the trees so that’s why the forest is always green. They’re _disciplined_. None of those facts correlate but I guess that’s the end of the conversation, yes?”

“I want to find out who ordered the hit on my parents,” Camille adds.

“I’m the assassin that killed them,” Duncan supplies helpfully.

Crowley groans, there’s a suspicious _thump_ on the other end of the line that might have been Crowley banging his head against a wall. Another _thump_ (“that’s quite enough, dearie,” says Madame Tracey faintly) and another. “Where are you people?”

“We live near the lake,” Camille says. “Cabins across one another.”

“I got here first,” Duncan says.

“That one,” Crowley barks. “The _asssassssin,_ shut up.” Duncan shuts up happily. Crowley sighs, groans some more. “I’ll visit soon,” Crowley decides and hangs up.

Crowley does visit within the week, dressed mostly as a walking bundle of coats and bearing sandwiches “You better have a fire going on there,” Crowley hisses vehemently and pushes past Duncan to curl in front of Camille’s space heater and steal more blankets from her bed.

“What are you?” Camille asks, hands folded around her knees as she watches Crowley curiously. Crowley drops his sunglasses and reveals gold serpentine eyes. “ _Sssserpent_ of Eden. Demon of Hell, blah blah blah. What I am, is bloody fucking cold.”

Duncan makes Camille and Crowley hot cocoa, Crowley accepts it, sniffs at it, grumbles a lot at it, stares at it mournfully, grumbles some more at it, before he actually drinks it, and then grumbles some more, but he eventually warms up to shed a few layers.

“So do you want my soul in exchange or is this a ten years down the line deal?” Camille asks curiously.

Crowley rolls his eyes at the suggestion. “His soul is bound for Hell, one thing for sure. And I won’t touch it with a five foot pole because hygiene. _Hygiene_ ,” Crowley hisses at Duncan. “Why would you eat people you crazy bastard? Why would you _want_ to eat someone’s _brain_? One word – prions. _Prions_.”

Camille blinks at Crowley and turns to Duncan. Duncan blinks amicably back and stares into the middle distance, contemplating a cigarette, though Camille hasn’t given him permission to smoke indoors. “And you,” Crowley squints at Camille.

Crowley trains unsettling gold eyes on Camille, peering uncomfortably into whatever he’s peering at. Camille straightens, shifts uncomfortably, and hides behind her mug of cocoa. “Nah,” Crowley shrugs. Camille relaxes.

“Nah,” Crowley says softer again, more to himself than anything else. “It’d be like old times’, you humans would do the rest of the worst.”

“Let’s call the person who ordered a hit on your father X, yeah? I know someone who knows where X is.”

“But you know who X is!” Camille cries. Crowley nods. “But if I tell you immediately then you won’t take me with you, and I want to get back to the UK.”

*

It should have been expected that Crowley takes them to a sex therapist who lives in dense forest by a happy lake, but in all honesty, Duncan is not sure what to expect anymore, neither is Camille.

“Hannibal?” asks Sex Therapist. Well, Duncan didn’t expect Bedelia. “You’re a sex therapist now?” Duncan asks. Camille blinks between the two of them, surprised and awkward and curious.

Sex Therapist sneers at Duncan heatedly for a moment before she throws her hands in the air and gives up, lets them in anyways. “No wonder Crowley said you ate people,” Camille murmurs. “I don’t, anymore,” Duncan tells the floorboards sulkily.

“And being an international assassin is so much better,” Camille huffs.

“…my son doesn’t tell me anything! Do you know what he told me recently? Stay out of his life! Stay out of his life? I’m his mother!” Bedelia cries, leaning against a drier as it hums. “What are you here for? Are you here to kill me? Might as well! Maybe when I’m dead that stupid boy will learn to appreciate me. Let him live with his father! Let him know what living like a barbarian is like!”

“You have a son?” Duncan asks curiously.

Bedelia sniffs, raises her chin in challenge. “Yes.”

“We’re not here to kill you,” Crowley says as he stares at a painting depicting what seems like an orgy. It’s hard to tell from a distance, Duncan does not get closer to it. Camille stares with fascinated horror at a wooden dildo nearby. “Is this the real –”

“No it isn’t, but thank you for expressing an interest, does Otis do that? No! The one time he brought in a friend he hid everything! Like he’s ashamed of me!”

“Excuse me, Bedelia. But how old is your Otis?”

Sex Therapist glares at Duncan. “It’s Jean now. And Otis is eighteen.”

“He’s in a growing stage where he’s still learning about himself and would prefer to be free from his parent’s influence. It’s normal for there to be distance between the two of you. He might benefit from it. And if he stumbles, well, that’s how children learn?”

“Stumble? Otis has asthma!” Jean says hotly and would have said more if Crowley didn’t intervene. “Come with me, Dr. Milburn. Let me tell you all about how we’re not here to kill you,” and leads her away.

Camille stares at where Jean was a few moments before and bursts into giggles. She grins at Duncan. “Well?”

“We knew each other before I was an assassin. She was my therapist,” Duncan says carefully. “We weren’t friends. She was alcoholic, I was a cannibalistic serial killer.”

Camille studies Duncan’s face before giggling some more. “She scares you.”

“Yes,” Duncan agrees, thinks it over and adds: “she didn’t used to. But it seems she loves her son very much.” Bluebeard’s wife no longer.

Crowley and Jean appear again, Jean much calmer and Crowley just as suave as ever, being in England suits him. “If he asks you to commit murder, or if he even suggests to you you’re involved in murder, don’t believe him,” Jean tells Camille seriously.

“I am committing murder. I’m looking for vengeance for my dead family,” Camille blinks.

Jean turns to Duncan. “She’s holding my lighter hostage.”

“You smoke now?”

“I tried to raise a dog, but I shot it by accident. I have a pair of goldfish now. They live in a bowl and I hope they’re still alive when I get back,” Duncan answers.

Jean sniffs haughtily again. “I guess we’ve all changed. Go to Soho, London. Someone there can tell you more.”

Camille and Duncan frown heavily at Crowley, who shrugs. “Let’s go, then.”

*

“Go away,” says the bookstore owner in Soho, London. “We don’t sell books here (it was most definitely a bookstore, though). It’s not even business hours (it was).”

“Aziraphale, it’s me.”

The speed of which Bookstore Owner throws himself at Crowley was most definitely supernatural, and Camille and Duncan gawk at the sight as Crowley clings back to the man. “Crowley! My dear, where have you been?”

“In America. I was with Shadwell and Tracey. It was horrible. It was cold all the time and they only ate sandwiches and they always yelled,” Crowley whines into Aziraphale’s embrace. “And then the one time I got to have something that wasn’t a sandwich, it was cocoa and it made me think of you, and I just couldn’t – I just – I missed you so much!”

“You shouldn’t have left, then,” Aziraphale scolds. “You could stay here with me as long as you’d like. Why did you even leave in the first place?”

“I didn’t want to be in Mayfair anymore! There was Ligur’s ashes everywhere and I didn’t want to – that’s where it happened and I didn’t – couldn’t,” Crowley sobs and Aziraphale pats his hair to comfort him. “There, there.”

It was several minutes of whining and crying before Crowley fell asleep against Aziraphale, exhausted from all the tears. Aziraphale moves him to a couch. “Poor dear.” From Duncan’s perspective there was nothing pitiable about Crowley, the little shit had manipulated them all to get back to his husband.

“So, what can I do for you two? You brought him back to me.”

As it turns out, Aziraphale is an angel, and _doesn’t_ manipulate them or have them running around in circles to find X. “Oh, him?” Aziraphale says once Camille is finished telling her about everything. “He’s in California, he works in an observatory. I believe his name is now Adam Raki.”

“Now? What was it before?” Camille asks.

“Will Graham.”

*

Duncan does tell Camille about his past as Hannibal and with Will Graham, and adds that Camille might not learn much about how they interact and “I’m not going to kill Will Graham, or Adam Raki.”

“Why not?” Camille demands. “Then, I’m going to.”

“I shall stop you then. If he doesn’t,” Duncan says. “I’m retired, Camille.”

“So? Does you being retired means I can get my family back? I want my family back!”

“And I’m sorry I can’t give you that,” Duncan says gently. “But I can’t let you kill Will Graham.”

Will Graham is not Adam Raki, and Adam Raki is not Will Graham; just as Duncan is not Hannibal, and Hannibal is not Duncan. They’ve both changed too much and the instant they laid eyes on each other, they knew.

Adam is a shy boy, twice as awkward as Will was, but his movements lack Will’s tortured edges. He is plagued by troubles, yes, but they do not always follow him to bed, and the bone fort of his minds are safe and welcoming for the people he loves and knows. Duncan is afraid to touch Adam, afraid to even look at him, knowing what he knows about Will.

Camille hesitates, watching Adam disentangle himself from work, stammering apologies and excuses to head over in their direction. “Hannibal,” Adam says quietly, nodding at Duncan, not meeting his eyes. He peeks between his lashes to look at Camille before staring back at his shoes, fingers wound tight between one another. “Camille.”

“You know me,” Camille breathes, shocked.

“I kept newspaper clippings,” Adam says, glances at Hannibal. “Like you used to keep them. About the church collapses.”

“I tried to keep a dog. It was named Rusty. I bought a cabin across a frozen lake,” Duncan offers. Adam smiles, his cheeks flushed and he rocks slightly on his heels.

“Why did you kill my father?” Camille whispered, the words strangled out of her by practice.

“I,” Adam frowns at Duncan’s hands and he resists the urge to lift his chin up so their eyes meet. “I wanted to talk to him, I didn’t know any other way to get his attention.”

“And now we have the same nightmares, you and I,” Hannibal says softly. “Both of us are drowned in our guilt.”

Will nods, his fingers spasm and Hannibal reaches a hand out for him. Will takes the hand, holds tight, doesn’t let go.

Duncan looks at Camille, eyes swimming, and says: “I’m sorry.”

*

“They’re going to Hell, they’re merciless and have filled the murder quota for it. So don’t you worry, dear girl,” Aziraphale tells Camille. “You can always ask Crowley how bad it is Down Below. He needs someone to vent to, and I’ve had six thousand years to hear him talk.”

Camille stares blankly into a mug of hot cocoa. The bookstore is warm, to suit Crowley, the pillows soft (Crowley) and tartan (Aziraphale). “I couldn’t see my family’s faces. Only his,” Camille says miserably.

“Well,” Crowley tries. “I’d hazard if they were alive, you wouldn’t recognise them either.” Camille bursts into tears and Aziraphale pats her on the arm consolingly, glaring at Crowley. “What, angel? It’s true. Everybody changes, only we don’t.”

“To die of old age is the greatest privilege of all,” Aziraphale says.

“But I want my family back. I want to grow old with them. What’s the point if I don’t have them?” Camille sobs.

“Well, you can always find a new one,” Crowley suggests. Camille gasps, chokes a bit, scandalised. “Well, they’re not coming back, and you’re not going to meet them just yet, and if you want a family so badly, I don’t see what’s the problem with finding a new one. It’s not like you’re replacing your old one, it’s just a different family, is all.”

“I remember,” Camille gasps, crying. “I remember how warm my mother was…how soft my brother’s cheek…I was going to have a baby sister…my father smelled like cigarette smoke…but I can’t see them! I only see him!”

“Well he’s not here anymore,” Crowley says. “And you’ve seen him for a while, you know what he’s like. What he was like. You were prepared to work with him for a while. You tried to kill him, that didn’t work out. Why don’t you sleep on it for a moment and we’ll see about it.”

Camille slept. She dreamt of the firewood by the cabin, of hefting the axe and trying to cleave it, only for the blade to glance off the wood and tumble into the snow. She dreamt of blinking and realising that it was all done all along, nothing left to do but to go home, light a fire, and curl up around it.

“…I still don’t see my family,” Camille tells breakfast as Aziraphale serves it while Crowley cooks.

“If you ask me, I can’t remember what Eden looks like,” Aziraphale says gently. “I remember the warmth of paradise, though. The softness of the grass. The smell of an oncoming storm after Eve bit the apple. That doesn’t mean I was never in Eden, that doesn’t mean that Eden is anything less than real, on the other hand it means I have a different Eden now. No less like paradise.”

Camille eats breakfast with an angel and a demon, and contemplates family.

A week later, Crowley comes back with a pamphlet, calling for the casting of Joan of Arc in a play. He hands the pamphlet to Camille.

“I don’t speak French.”

“You don’t need to speak French. You need to dress like a guy in a suit of armour, and be very enthusiastic about killing men. Maybe occasionally act like you’re talking to angels.”

Camille signs up for the play.

**Author's Note:**

> The ending references Vanessa Hudgens' role as Joan of Arc in Drunk History.
> 
> Link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TSDjeTgXZlw


End file.
